


That Night

by theoxfordcommando



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, excessively romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 17:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15152516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoxfordcommando/pseuds/theoxfordcommando
Summary: My own take on the first night spent between Hawke and Fenris."Pinned to the wall, not confined but contained. Hawke’s hands are nervous but his mouth is sure.He breaks away to kiss along Fenris’ throat.“This may not be the right time,”Lips just beneath his ear, breath warm, chest tight.“but I think I’m in love with you.”"





	That Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is overdone but still my favourite. I love exploring how that first time between them went, before everything went wrong.

Pinned to the wall, not confined but contained. Hawke’s hands are nervous but his mouth is sure.  
He breaks away to kiss along Fenris’ throat.

“This may not be the right time,”  
Lips just beneath his ear, breath warm, chest tight.  
“but I think I’m in love with you.”

Fenris shoves him hard across the room into the banister post, fear of rejection flashes behind Hawke’s eyes, he does nothing to hide his hurt, too open. Vulnerable.

Fenris stalks towards him with purpose,  
“I want you.”

Grabbing Hawke’s collar and pulling his lips down to meet his own once again.  
They kiss for what feels like an age.

“Upstairs?”

A question, an offer, one that Hawke hopes Fenris will take. He wants this more than he’s ever wanted anything.  
Fenris directs him again, pushing, guiding, Hawke climbing the stairs backwards, the two loathe to part for more than split seconds.

Hawke isn’t paying attention. He slips on the stair but catches himself hard on the rail, legs splayed wide, the wood of the banister pressing into his upper back. He can feel the bruise that’s bound to form on his hip.

Fenris is taller than him in this moment, looming. His lyrium still flickers softly, shooting stars in the night sky. 

Fenris brings his body flush against Hawke’s again, starving mouth to starving mouth. He grinds his hips, unconsciously, against the hard planes of Hawke’s chest and Hawke lets out a loud groan. Overwhelmed.

Hawke pushes himself up, lifts Fenris into his arms and carries him the rest of the way up the stairs, no mishaps.

Hawke deposits him on the large down mattress with its red flannel sheets. Distantly, Fenris thinks, it’s the softest bed he’s ever lain in.  
Hawke closes the door with his heel but neglects to lock it in his haste to return to Fenris, pulling his shirt over his head as he makes for the bed. 

Fenris’ mouth has gone dry at the sight of so much skin but there’s no time to think on it before Hawke is over him once again, mouth soft, hands warm, running under Fenris’ shirt and up, smoothing over the muscles of his abdomen.

Fenris shucks his gauntlets and throws them to the floor as Hawke removes his chest piece. He lifts his arms and his shirt is gone, tossed to the floor, careless, forgotten.  
Hawke stops for a moment, he’s staring.

“Maker’s breath.”

Fenris reaches up to pull him back down, needing his closeness, chasing his warmth.

“You’re so beautiful.” Hawke says as he goes, easy to guide, happy to follow Fenris’ lead.  
Fenris’ leggings have become almost uncomfortably tight and it feels like there’s a fire burning bright behind his ribcage. Hawke started that fire, he thinks, absently.  
Fenris jolts when Hawke’s hands find the skin above his waistband, hips pressing up, seeking, desperate.

“Is this okay?”

Hawke is looking up at him, waiting. Fenris nods.  
Then his leggings are gone. Hawke’s mouth is on his stomach, he kisses his hip, his inner thigh.  
Fenris doesn’t know what to do with his hands.  
Hawke’s mouth is so close to where Fenris is now realising he needs it, but he shouldn’t, it isn’t-

“You don’t have to do that.” It doesn’t make sense, the way Hawke looks up at him from between his legs, his eyes blown dark with lust.  
Hawke rests his head on Fenris’ thigh, his hand runs a soothing path over his opposite flank.

“I’d like to.”

“Why?”

It doesn’t make sense. Hawke has never made sense.

Hawke has closed his eyes, but he opens them again on a heavy exhale, he’s trying to regain some composure, as he lifts his head from Fenris’ thigh. 

“Maker, Fenris, I’ve wanted to for years.”

And they’re kissing again. Kissing is good, kissing he understands.

“I won’t. I won’t return the favor.”

Hawke shakes his head.

“You don’t have to.”

Fenris finally nods his head in shaky agreement.

“Alright.”

Hawke is already moving back down, eager, impatient now for Fenris’ pleasure in a way he has not been for his own. He looks Fenris squarely in the eyes.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

‘I won’t.’ Fenris thinks.

His mouth is on Fenris then and it’s like nothing Fenris has ever known. His head presses into the mattress as his hips press up into Hawke’s mouth, his hands in Hawke’s hair.  
Hawke hums around him, the firm pressure of his clever tongue has Fenris seeing stars.  
One of Hawke’s hands holds his hip gently, the other moves to massage his sac.  
Fenris doesn’t have time to warn him, barely has time to register what’s about to happen before-

Hawke swallows.

When Fenris comes back to himself, heart still hammering in his chest, softer now, Hawke is leaning over him, stretched to the side, fumbling for something in his nightstand.  
A curse and Hawke stands, moves over to better search the drawer.  
Fenris closes his eyes and remembers how to breathe. 

A soft “ah ha!” as Hawke finds what he was looking for.

Fenris knows this part. Remembers what comes now. And he will bear it, for Hawke.

After everything, Hawke has earned at least this pleasure. 

Fenris turns over, forearms pressed to the mattress, head rested on clenched fists, hips out, presenting.

He knows Hawke’s attention has returned to him when he hears his soft gasp. It sounded unconscious and that makes Fenris smile, even as he tightens his jaw in preparation.  
The bed sinks beside him and Fenris is surprised by a tender kiss to his shoulder, his neck.

He relaxes his jaw.

Hawke’s hands run down the length of his body, steady now where they hadn’t been before. Hawke kisses the small of his back.  
Some of the tension in Fenris’ shoulders releases before he remembers what it had been there for.

Hawke’s hands are on his ass, kneading. Fenris’ skin jumps in surprise as Hawke slides only a finger into him, slick with oil.  
Hawke is murmuring lovesick nonsense into his skin as he stretches Fenris with his one hand, his other coming up to stroke against the length of him.

Fenris breath begins to come sharper now, swamped once again in unfamiliar territory as he pushes himself back into Hawke’s one hand, forward into his other. 

Hawke crooks his fingers and Fenris shouts.  
“Hawke!”

And he needs that one word to convey all the things he’s unable to say in this moment, his breaths heavy, his skin alight.  
Hawke removes his hand, runs it across Fenris’ hips in that soothing way he has, something Fenris had failed to account for. 

“Turn over?”

Fenris collects his thoughts enough to reply.  
“Why?”

But he is already doing as Hawke has asked, his back falling once more against the soft mattress, his arms outstretched. 

“I missed looking at you.”

Hawke’s smiling. 

Fenris doesn’t tell him how ridiculous he looks. Can barely think the thought over the blood pounding in his ears.

Hawke leans up to kiss him again. It’s been too long since they last kissed.

Fenris loses himself in the sensation until he feels Hawke press against him. His fists reclench and he prays Hawke doesn’t notice.  
Hawke moves slowly, gently. He’s slicked himself well, and he’s careful now as he breaches Fenris, kissing along his sternum.

Hawke stops then, waiting. For what, Fenris can’t imagine. 

Fenris opens his eyes, hadn’t realised they were closed. 

Hawke is looking at him intently, there’s sweat on his brow. He opens his mouth as if to say something.

“Hawke. Move.”  
Hawke does as he’s told and Fenris feels the flush beneath his skin pulse as Hawke presses back in.  
Hawke sets a measured pace, not too fast. Not fast enough.

“More.” 

Fenris demands. And Hawke smiles, wild and happy as he throws himself to the task.

Hawke’s hand is on Fenris again and Fenris, he hadn’t known. He’d never anticipated-  
A particularly hard thrust and Fenris feels every nerve in his body come alive, every inch of him desperately seeking a part in the pleasure that threatens to overwhelm him.

Fenris’ lyrium ignites, bright and powerful. He sees the effect it has on Hawke as the man groans low in his chest and closes his eyes, head bowed.

Hawke’s hand is still moving over him, Hawke’s hips still pistoning into him and this is outrageous, Fenris thinks.

To think that it could be like this. 

He comes for the second time that night, Hawke’s name on his lips, Hawke’s hand on his cock.  
Fenris feels through his haze when Hawke finds his release, opens his eyes in time to catch the tail end of it, the way Hawke’s face goes slack with pleasure. Breath coming in sharp gasps.

Hawke’s arms are on either side of Fenris now, supporting the large man’s weight. 

They’re shaking.

Hawke opens his eyes to look at Fenris once more. What Fenris sees there nearly stops his heart. 

Hawke had meant what he’d said.

Hawke loved him. 

Their lips meet again as Hawke withdraws. Before he picks himself up to return with a cool washcloth.  
Fenris’ skin jumps at the first pass of cold cloth, but it is a welcome balm on his overheated skin, and Hawke is efficient.  
Hawke stands once more. When he returns, Fenris can see his nervousness has returned as well. He’s holding something in his hands when he moves to sit down on the bed next to Fenris.

“This might seem ridiculous-“

Fenris doesn’t say anything. Hawke isn’t looking at him, gaze fixed on whatever is in his hands. 

“It’s a tradition-“

Hawke starts. Stops himself again.

“A favor.”

Hawke finally manages, hands opening to reveal a red silk scarf.

“You don’t have to wear it. Or anything. But I’d like you I have it. I’d thought I was never going to-

I want you to have it.”  
Hawke finishes his sentence, winces at the awkward structure of the thing.

Fenris takes the silk from Hawke’s hands, runs it through his fingers.  
“I’m afraid I have nothing to give you in return.”

Hawke looks up at him again, finally. He’s smiling.

“To have you accept it would be a gift all its own.”

Fenris stares at him a moment before winding the cloth several times around his right wrist. He secures a knot, pulling it tight with his teeth.  
Hawke is smiling at him still, a soft, fond, incredulous sort of smile.  
Fenris reaches for him with the arm wrapped in silk, pulls him back towards him, back into the bed.

Hawke goes gladly, his lips meeting Fenris’ once more.

“I love you.”

Hawke says. His eyes are sincere, his voice is sure.  
Fenris kisses him again, folds himself against Hawke’s large frame as he feels sleep begin to claim him.

“I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Morwen for being you <3


End file.
